


A Year of Me and You

by crossingwinter



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: <--both of these two are in chapter 8 and if that's not your jam you can hop the chapter, (the more i write this, Accidental Pregnancy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/M, Miscarriage, rating very likely to go up but we’re starting here for now, tags to update as I write, the more disgustingly established their relationship becomes), though there is more broadly discussion of having kids in the fic as a whole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-01-01 08:13:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18332117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossingwinter/pseuds/crossingwinter
Summary: “After you move in with one another, give yourself six months to like one another again,” Maz says, looking at Rey seriously through her bottlecap glasses.“I’m not going to fall out of love with—”“No, no.  Not love.  Love’s not got anything to do with it, child.Like.”--Non-linear vignettes of various length, set during the first year Rey and Ben live together.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Autonomee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autonomee/gifts).



> **Prompt:** Rey and Ben have just moved in together. Id love to see several little snippets from their first year living together.

“After you move in with one another, give yourself six months to like one another again,” Maz says, looking at Rey seriously through her bottle cap glasses.

“I’m not going to fall out of love with—”

“No, no.  Not love. Love’s not got anything to do with it, child.   _ Like _ .”

Rey makes a face, and Maz just shakes her head.  “You’ll see what I mean, child. You’ll see.”

And she does.  

They have a lot of sex that first week.  On as many surfaces as they can manage—the kitchen table, the shower, the living room floor.  It’s all so much easier to just...do it when they’re living together.

They have a decent amount of sex the second week, in the bed, mostly.  The floor was bad for Ben’s knees, and they hadn’t done quite a good enough job cleaning the table afterwards and had found dried cum on it. But they still have a decent amount of sex.

The third week, Rey gets her period, and so they restrict themselves mostly to the shower because Ben doesn’t want to ruin his towels—they’re new, and nicer than any towel Rey has ever owned—and Rey doesn’t mind that too much because the heat from the hot water helps her cramps.

And by the fourth week—

Ok, it’s not that she hates him, but it’s really frustrating just how much food he wastes.  He doesn’t even think about it. Any time he doesn’t finish his meal, he doesn’t put it in tupperware, it goes straight into the garbage.  Every time he does it, Rey’s stomach twists because  _ how _ doesn’t he realize that leftover stew tastes better than day-made stew because it’s left to sit there?  And god what wouldn’t she have given a few years ago to have even that sliver of the portion he’s throwing out?  She knows he’s just not thinking about it, knows she’s through that part of her life where she’s pinching pennies and saving scraps, but it rankles.

“I’ll clean up,” she tells him the fourth or fifth time he does it.

“No, I got it,”  he replies.

“I got it,” she says.  “You cooked.” Because that’s something she loves about Ben—that he cooks.  So much better than she always does. Even if he doesn’t realize that day-made stews aren’t as good as leftover stews.  

“No, it’s fine,” he says.

“Ben, you don’t have to coddle me.  I live here too.” He hesitates and Rey stiffens.  “What?”

“Look, you’re a slob, ok?  Let me clean.”

“I’m not a slob.”

“You really are.”

They don’t have sex that night.  

That’s when she starts noticing that Ben’s always cleaning up after her when she’s not paying attention.  He makes the bed while she’s having breakfast, he folds the blankets she leaves strewn around the living room because she gets cold while they watch TV, and hangs up her jacket in the coat closet when she throws it on one of the armchairs.  He puts away her tools when she’s tinkering and leaves them lying about. 

But it’s catching him washing the dishes she already washed again, as though he’s not confident that she did it properly, that makes her to snap.  “You’re  _ ridiculous _ with how clean you need it to be.  It’s  _ anal _ .”

“It’s not anal,” he snaps back.  “It’s orderly.”

They don’t have sex again that night, either.

They lie in their bed, Rey in a nest of blankets because they’re not even snuggling and she’s cold.  She cocoons herself up the way she did for years and waits for sleep to come.

It doesn’t.  

_ Desperate to sleep,  _ he’d said on their first—admittedly catastrophic—date.  She’s so desperate to sleep right now.

_ I’m not falling out of love with him,  _ she tells herself firmly, but her head has started spinning and she hates it.  

She and Ben—it’s not like they don’t argue.  Things haven’t always been smooth sailing. He grills her, she grills him, it’s a dance they know and respect and love.  But this isn’t that, somehow. This isn’t  _ who you are _ this is  _ how you live _ and what if living together is a bad idea?  What if they aren’t supposed to be living together?  What if this was just another delusion of what her life could be, like her parents coming back?

She wiggles her cocoon next to him and he makes a noise as his eyes open, his body tensing.  He relaxes quickly though and he twists onto his side and pulls her into—well she can’t call it a spoon, she’s wrapped in too many blankets.  But into a something. “Blanket thief,” he mutters to her.

“You sleep too warm anyway, you’re always saying,” she replies.  

He catches the tears in her voice.  “What’s that snuffling?” 

“It’s nothing,” she replies.  “I love you.”

“Love you too,” he replies slowly, sounding more than a little confused and more than a lot concerned.  “Rey—what’s—”

“It’s fine, it’s just something Maz said.”

“What’s wrong?”

“No, it’s fine,” Rey says.

“It’s  _ fine _ fine, or it’s you pretending it’s fine and smiling about it fine?”

“I love you.”  God she loves him.  She loves him for knowing her better than she knows herself sometimes and caring about her anyway.  She’ll get used to it, she will. Maz said she would, and Maz has never been wrong about this ever. He’s up on his elbow now, watching her closely in the dark.

And then he’s flopping over on top of her cocoon, the weight of him pressing the heat of the blankets down around her.  She feels safe like that—with him. She’s always felt safe with him. And she wants to tell him exactly what’s got her down, wants to say  _ Maz says it’ll take me six months to like you again,  _ but she knows he’ll take it the wrong way, that he’ll misunderstand and he’ll shut down and she loves him too much to do that.  She’ll keep calling him anal about everything while they work out the kinks, while they get used to being with each other like this.

Six months. She can do six months.

And who knows, maybe Maz was wrong.  Maybe it’ll happen faster.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew the rating would go up I just wasn’t expecting it to go up right away, but that’s #Reylo for you. Thanks [ceremony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceremony) for the inspiration for this one!

They break the bed.  

Which—to be fair—they’ve joked about before.  

Ben’s ridiculously fit, and Rey spends a good amount of time in gyms too between flights, which means that their lovemaking has always been aerobic.  Especially once they’d found their groove, once they’d gotten past the emotional intensity of what it actually meant to be with one another, sex got fun, and sex got intense in the  _ I’m going to be sore for four days in muscles I didn’t know I had  _ sort of way.  

“We’re gonna break this bed one day,” Ben had joked when they’d heard the wood creaking while her ankles were around his shoulders, while his hand was pressed against the headboard for support and his cock was sliding into her so swift and deep that she was having trouble forming words one day.

“That wasn’t supposed to be prophetic,” Rey laughs once the shrieking in surprise has stopped, once they’ve checked to make sure that they’re both ok.   He’s still inside her, his chest pressed to her back because it had been doggy-style that had been one bridge too far for the bed.  

“Do we keep going?” he asks her, because he’s still hard enough that he can get it back in a few seconds.

“Maybe the living room?” Rey suggests and he pulls out of her, helping her off the mattress.  The moment that they’re both on their feet, the bed sort of collapses inward, the mattress sliding forward, and Rey leans forward to get a better look.

“You can see if you can fix it later,”  Ben says, nudging her with his semi. “When it’s slightly less pressing.”

She gives him a wicked grin.

They don’t make it to the living room.  They do make it to the door, though, and Rey’s hands scrabbling at the lintel overhead, at the doorknob and the wall for balance, her legs now twined around his hips as he pumps up and in and up and in and the door behind her sort of shakes on  its hinges the way the mattress always shook in time to his thrusting when he’s like this. 

He comes before she does, with a panted, drawn-out groan, and he takes about thirty seconds before dropping to his knees and finishing her off, one of her thighs resting on his shoulder.  

Her knees go weak and she sinks to the floor next to him and he sort of twists and they both stare at the bed.

“So,” he says at last.

And they burst out laughing, and he turns his head towards hers and they’re laughing into one another’s lips, into one another’s lungs.  

“The bed frame is fucked,” Rey says after they’ve dragged the mattress off it to get a better look.  Ben snorts. “See that?” she points. One of the panels had splintered near a joint when trying to pull away from the screw.  

“Yeah,” he says.  “Damn.” He sounds very proud of himself and honestly, Rey can’t even fault him for that because he had managed to break the damn bed.  “This is the first piece of furniture I’ve ever broken for fun and not—you know—” uncontrollable rage. Uncontrollable rage that he hasn’t had in years because it turns out therapy and working hard to reclaim relationships with  your family can make you less angry. 

“Good progress,” she winks up at him, and he grins at her again, wiping his bangs off his face.  

They look at schedules, look at budget, and decide that next week, on Tuesday, he’ll take the day off and they’ll go to Ikea and get a new bed frame.  Because if there’s one thing they learned from when Finn and Rose moved in together, it’s that they will need to budget an entire day at Ikea.

They go straight to the bedroom subdivision when they arrive.  

“It’s got good storage underneath,” Ben says, examining one of the displays closely.  Rey picks at her hands and makes a face. “What?”

“The headboard is kind of ugly,” she says.

He steps closer to murmur his response in her ear.  “Yeah, but the padding might be nice.” He nudges his hip almost imperceptibly against hers.  

“Are you playing to my pragmatic side?” she asks.

“Absolutely.  It’s more useful than a nicer-looking headboard.”

“What about that one?” Rey asks, pointing towards the next one on the show floor.  “That one has headboard storage, and it’s nicer-looking. You’re the one who’s always complaining that I leave my crap all over the bed.  Maybe I’ll start putting it in the headboard storage instead.”

Ben blinks at her.  He looks between the two headboards.  “You can also put your books there,” she says, “instead of stacking them on the floor like I know you hate, or having to get out of bed to put them away, which I also know you hate.”

He sighs at last.  “If we have headboard storage, do we even need under-bed storage, then?”

“We can put the linens in the drawers, which will free up the hall closet which means I can finally put my tinkering tools in a place that will  mean you won’t trip over them all the time.”

“As if you’ll actually put them away.”

“I’m getting better at it,” she replies, trying not to be stung.  She’s  _ trying _ .  She gets it a little better, now—especially because she’s noticed that his mood is decidedly better when places are less cluttered.  She's made some—some—progress in the four months since she moved in.   He kisses her temple. She stands on his toes.

“Ok, so functional headboard, functional under-bed storage,” he says, making a note on his phone.  

“If you care about the padding, I can try and put something together with my staple gun,” Rey says.  Ben looks at her, and she can see him balancing the  _ you could be destroying our new headboard  _ with his knowledge that no one can put anything together quite like Rey.  

“If we deem it necessary,” he says.  “We might be fine with pillows.”

“They have served us well thus far,” Rey says, giving him an innocent smile.  His ears go red but other than that he doesn’t acknowledge any of the insinuations she laces into her words.

They weave their way through the store, spending far too much time comparing coffee tables and shelving units before doubling back to look at couches just in case they want to replace the one that Ben’s had since grad school.  They do find some new dining room chairs, though, as their current ones are starting to fall apart from wear, and they spend a good thirty minutes arguing over getting new lamps for the bedroom because Rey’s is falling apart, no matter how many times she tinkers with it to fix it.  

They pick up their boxes, pay, and load them into the car and drive back to the house.

“Do you want help?” Ben asks her as she begins unpacking the boxes with their new bed.  He’s leaning against the doorframe, watching her with a strange look in his eyes.

“What?” she asks him.

“Nothing.”

“Nope—you look weird.”

“I just like watching you build stuff.  You get this happy aura around you.”

Rey snorts.  “You’ve been spending too much time baking with Amilyn.”

He shrugs, unbothered.  “Do you want help?”

Rey chucks the instruction manual at him.  “You broke it. You’re helping me.”

“ _ I _ broke it?” he laughs.  “ _ We _ broke it.”

“So  _ we _ get to build it, then,” she says.  

“And then do  _ we _ get to see how strong it is compared to the old one?”  He bends down closer to her, his lips only an inch from hers.

She tilts her head up.  “ _ We _ might consider it.”   And she kisses him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short update! This one comes from [Autonomee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autonomee/pseuds/Autonomee), who suggested that it might be fun to see them host their first dinner party. 
> 
> Longer updates to follow--this one wanted to stay short and sweet!

“That smells amazing,” Rey calls into the kitchen.

“Good,” Ben replies, sounding very proud of himself.  

“Seriously, you could be a chef or something,” she says.  Ben snorts. 

“Never gonna happen.”

“I’m just saying, I like the idea of you all in white, wearing a floppy hat.”

“Never going to happen.  Lights don’t look good on me.”

“Everything looks good on you,” she replies.  “Also off you.”

He snorts again. 

Rey looks around the living room.  It looks neat, right? Ben’s cooking, she’s cleaning.  She’d gotten out his vacuum cleaner, and had even dusted (who actually dusts?) and had wrestled some of their still-yet-to-be-unpacked boxes into the hall closet.  They just won’t let Finn, Poe, and Rose hang their coats up. That’s all. They don’t need to know that it’s been a month and a half and they haven’t finished unpacking.  Most of that’s heavier winter stuff they won’t need until next month at the earliest anyway.

Her gut twists when Ben emerges from the kitchen.  She half-expects him to straighten the couch cushions or something.  She doesn’t know. He always finds something she hasn’t cleaned up right.  But instead he pulls her towards him, and his fingers twine with hers as he bends his head to brush his lips against hers.  

“I clean up good,” Rey says.  “See?”

“You are in fact capable,” Ben agrees.

“Just because I don’t doesn’t mean I can’t.”

He nods as though he’s humoring her but his eyes stay soft, playful.  “What time did you tell them.”

“Six-thirty,”  Rey says.

“Good,” and he pushes her onto the couch and a moment later his lips are on her neck.

“All this cause I cleaned?” she asks as his hand slips under her shirt.  She tries not to let it annoy her. She knows he’s anal and everything about how orderly he likes things.  She’s working on getting used to it. 

“Incentivization,” he replies, tweaking at her nipple with long fingers.  

“Did you wash those hands?  I don’t want marinade all over me,” she teases.  

“I wash my hands, unlike some people,” he growls into her neck.  

“Is that a fact?”

“It is.”

“Funny. I washed my hands earlier today, so I don’t know who you’re—”

She doesn’t get to finish because his lips are on hers and she’d rather kiss him than finish her thoughts.  She can tell that whatever he’s planning, it’s going to be fast, and hot, and she wants that, especially because she  _ did _ clean and she  _ does _ deserve a reward for that.

She rubs her groin against his hips and his hands drop down to shove her skirt up, his fingers shoving aside her underpants and pressing into her, curling up and in and stroking at her as she sighs into his mouth and reaches her own hand down to unbutton his jeans.

She pulls him out, stroking him, enjoying the hot heft of him in her palm when she hears the front door open and Finn calls, “Hell—holy shit.”

He whirls around, his back to them, as Rey yelps and Ben curses and does his best to block them from view.

“You said six o’clock,” Finn says in a pained voice.

“I said six-thirty!” Rey replies in a strangled voice.

“You really didn’t,” Rose says.  “Are they doing what I—”

“Yup!” Finn says loudly.  “Let’s go for a walk. See you at six-thirty.”

And the door slams shut again.

Rey looks at Ben.  Ben looks at Rey.

And they both burst out laughing.  

“I said six-thirty!” Rey wheezes.

“Well, now we have until six-thirty,” Ben replies, rubbing his fingers along the seam of her again.  

“This is worse than that time your parents walked in on us,” Rey mutters.

“Is it?”  His fingers are  _ really _ quite delicious against her skin.  “That one felt worse to me.”

Rey kisses him, and wraps her fingers around him again.  “Did it?”

“I spent three weeks on it in thera— _ fuck _ you feel good, Rey.  Fuck.” He’s twitching in her palm.  Twitching and a moment later he’s pulling his fingers out of her and aligning their hips.  

By the time that Finn and Rose and Poe return, Rey is setting the table in the kitchen.  “Am I going to regret entering?” Finn calls.

“No, we’re rated PG again,” Rey replies.

“Teach me to just barge right in,” Finn mutters.  “Not as though I don’t know how much you two are after each other.”  He gives her a kiss, his breath smelling a bit like alcohol.

“Did you go to a bar?” Rey asks, laughing.

“I needed to get a head start at bleaching that out of my brain.  We did some shots and came back. Food ready?”

“Nearly,” Ben says from the kitchen.  He’s got that glow he always gets after they’ve had sex.

“You’d better have washed your hands,” Finn shoots at him.

“I did,” Ben says before his smile turns wicked.  “Rey didn’t want marinade all over her.”


	4. Chapter 4

Ben doesn’t like dogs.

He doesn’t make a big deal out of it.

It’s a childish fear, a childhood fear.  One day, he had been waiting in the car—like Dad told him to—while Dad took care of something for work.  There had been dogs outside the car, and Ben had been excited. Dogs were fun, and soft, and sweet. Sometimes they come over to lick his face when he’s in the park with his babysitter.  So he got out of the car to play with the dogs.

As an adult, Ben knows that he doesn’t remember clearly because his brain is keeping him from remembering what their teeth had felt like. He remembers his dad shouting, remembers snarling, remembers ending up in the hospital and his mother snapping at his father that he’d let Ben out of the car, that he’d even brought Ben along.

But Ben doesn’t like dogs anymore.  Not even nice ones. 

Which is why he freaks out when he hears barking in his house as he gets home from work.  He stands there on the front porch while someone barks inside.

“Stop it,” he hears Rey command the dog.  “Sit.”

It whines, and she opens the door.  “Hi.” She’s a little breathless, and she’s bending down to grab the dog by the collar to keep it from launching itself at Ben.

He doesn’t move, he just stares at it.  It comes up to his knees just about, and is spotted yellow and white, with a heavily wagging tail.  It whines, trying to get near him.

“He followed me home from my jog,” Rey says.  “I think he belongs to someone because he does have a collar.”

“But no dog tags?” Ben asks.

Rey shakes her head.  “I’m going to put together some flyers to post later.”  She gives him a smile. “Are you gonna come in?”

Ben’s still standing on the front porch, his eyes not leaving the dog.

“Ben, it’s a dog.”

A dog that’s wagging its little stubby tail feverishly at him, with a long, lolling pink tongue.  

“Yeah,” he says and he slips past her as best he can, doing his best to ignore the dog.  Rey closes the door and lets go of its collar and the thing is at him immediately and he steps back before his brain catches up with his body and tells him  _ this one isn’t like those ones. _

“Are you scared of him?” Rey asks.

“I don’t like dogs,” Ben replies shortly as the thing keeps rearing up on its legs to try and get a pat.  “I just—”

“Pumpkin, come on,” Rey says, grabbing the dog’s collar and pulling him away.  “Ben hates you.”

“I don’t hate him specifically I just—dogs have teeth, ok?”

“So do I,” Rey laughs.

“Yeah, but your teeth didn’t send me to the emergency room when I was five.”

Her smile slips at once, her eyes go wide.  “I’m sorry,” she says at once. “Do you want me to see if Finn can take him instead?”

Ben looks at the dog.  “Just—as long as he stops jumping it’s fine.  And as long as we don’t keep him if we don’t find his owner.”

Rey nods at once and Ben goes into the living room to drop off his bag.  It’s a mess—Rey’s been home all day so of course it’s a mess—and he folds up one of the blankets and throws it over the back of the sofa.  Then he gathers the bowl she’d filled with oatmeal that morning but hadn’t brought to the sink, the empty bag of chips, and a few snack bar wrappers and brings them into the kitchen.

“I got it,” Rey says at once, but she hasn’t let go of the dog yet.  “I can get that.”

“It’s fine,” he mutters.

“Ben—do you want me to call Finn?”

Ben sighs.  “Let him go.  If he’s calmed down now, it should be ok.”

He has.  When Rey releases him, he doesn’t move, sniffing the air and watching Ben with tentative black eyes.  

“Dogs smell fear, right?” Ben blurts out and Rey crosses the room and wraps her arms around  him. 

“I’m sorry—I didn’t know—everyone likes dogs.”

“No, not everyone likes dogs.  They just don’t say it because dog owners look at you like you want to kick puppies if you imply for half a second that you don’t like dogs.”  He feels better holding Rey. He always feels better holding Rey. 

“So I guess my plans to see if this could ease us into dog ownership aren’t going anywhere,” Rey says, pulling away just enough to look at him.

“Hard no,” Ben replies.  

“What about a cat?  They’re assholes, just like you.”

Ben snorts.  “Probably not.  Do I look like someone who has the capacity to nurture another living creature?”

He sees at once that he did it again—said something a little too blatantly, a little harder than Rey wants to hear it.  She looks away, biting her lip, her eyes landing on the dog who is now nudging against her leg, trying to get her attention back.

“What?” he asks her.

“Nothing,” she replies.

“I thought you were trying not to say  _ nothing _ anymore,” he retorts and she glares at him.

“I should never have told you about that,” she mutters.

“I’m glad you did if you are still doing it,” he points out.  She glares at him. He tries to glare back as best he can, considering that he’s not actually mad at her and is actually trying to work out what’s wrong.

“You can be nurturing,” she says.  “That’s why I fell in love with you, remember?”

“Yeah, but that’s not what made you just—”

“It’s really nothing,” she replies.  “Not a conversation for now.”

“But it is a conversation?”

“Yeah—maybe?  Not now. I don’t know where I am about it so I don’t even—”

“Rey.”

“Ben.”

He gives her a look and she gives him one back and rolls her eyes.  “Look—It’s really not anything to think about right now. Especially since there’s a non-zero chance you’re gonna freak out about it.”

“And now I’m freaking out about—”

“Trust me.  Please.”

“I do, but—”

“I just—people talk about pets as preparing for kids, ok?  And I don’t even know if I  _ want _ children.  I never thought I did, but it keeps coming up in therapy, and I don’t even know if it’s a conversation yet but—”  She cuts herself off, watching him closely.

But she wanted a dog or a cat just in case.

Ben swallows.

“You’re freaking out.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’ve gone blank, not overdrive.”

“Blank because of overdrive,” she replies, her hands squeezing his.  “Don’t freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out.”

He’d never wanted kids.  He’d decided that when he was fifteen and everything in his life was falling apart because of him.  Kids weren’t worth it. Because he wasn’t worth it. Except he’s trying not to think like that anymore.  And somehow, when he’d imagined kids, he had only ever imagined himself as a parent, and never—the kid could be part Rey.  That could be—

“I could maybe try a cat,” he says slowly.  Rey seems to get a little bit taller. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.  They’re less barky and bitey, yeah?”

“We can find one that doesn’t bark.” She presses her lips to his before disappearing, dropping to her knees so quickly that Ben thinks she’s going to grab his belt for a moment.

She doesn’t though.  She rubs the dog’s ears as it licks her face.  “Sorry you’re not a cat, Pumpkin, or I’d steal you.”

“Scavenge,” Ben corrects her and she glares at him—or tries to while the dog licking her face makes her smile.

“I’ll call Finn,” she says.  “If you don’t like dogs, we shouldn’t have a dog here.”

He’s about to protest but she’s already got her phone to her ear.  “Finn? Hey—favor for you. This dog followed me home and Ben—yes. Yes orange and white.  Yes. Yes. One sec, I’ll snap a pic.” She does and puts the phone back to her ear. “Tell Poe that’s a dumb name for a dog and he should change it to Pumpkin.  We’ll be here.”

She looks up at Ben.  “Poe got a dog, apparently.”

“What’s the name?”

“Not Pumpkin.  We’re going to keep calling him Pumpkin.”

Ben snorts.  He takes a deep breath and holds his hand out for Pumpkin to sniff.  When the dog open his mouth, his tongue is warm, and friendly, and feels really weird, but it’s not biting and barking and that makes all the difference in the world.


	5. Chapter 5

Ben’s phone is ringing.

His phone doesn’t ring at night.  Do Not Disturb kicks in at 10:30, so unless someone knows his phone’s on Do Not Disturb, his phone never rings.

He fumbles in the darkness for it and brings it to his ear without even opening his eye.

“Hello?”

“I’m not making it back tonight.”

Rey’s crying.  Not her sad tears, her angry tears.

“Ah fuck.  I’m sorry.”

“My final plane never made it out of Minneapolis because of the snow.  I don’t even know if I’ll be back tomorrow because it’s supposed to hit O’Hare.”  And as Ben has seen on Misery Map, whenever O’Hare gets hit, the rest of the country gets fucked. 

“Where are you now?”

“Seattle.  It’s not fucking snowing in Seattle.  But I’m stuck in Seattle because of snow.”

“Yeah,” Ben says slowly, trying to shake the fog from his brain.  It’s not like he’d slept well before Rey had called. And it’s not like he’d slept much the night before either because of—

“I’m sorry,” she moans.

“For getting stuck in Seattle?  That’s not your—”

“No—I’m sorry about leaving like that.  I shouldn’t have. I’m so, so sorry.”

Ben opens his mouth but words fail him.  “We fought, Rey. That’s gonna happen.”

“No, but I shouldn’t storm out like that.  I shouldn’t  _ leave _ like that.”

“Yeah, but you did, and we’ll talk more about—”

But she just starts sobbing now.  Ok, maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe those had been sad tears not angry tears when he’d picked up the phone.  

“I just want to be home,” she sobs.  “I want to be there with you. I don’t want to be alone.”

“You’re not a—”

“Don’t say it,” she moans and his heart stops.  “Please please please don’t say it. Because I am alone.  I’m in this room alone and you’re mad at me and we fought and what if everything falls apart and you leave and—”

“Ok stop talking now,” he says and for once in her goddamn life, Rey does stop talking.  “I’m not leaving you because we fought. Where the fuck did that come from?”

Rey doesn’t reply.  

“I left you once,” she says quietly.

“Yeah because I was a fascist. You were right to leave me.  That’s not this. We were fighting over the refrigerator, not—” he won’t say it out loud.  That’s not who he is anymore. He won’t. “I’m not going to leave you over a fucking refrigerator.”

Rey sniffles into the other side of the phone.  

“I hate fighting with you,” she mutters at last.

“Except all the times we have sex after?”

“That’s different,” she says.  “That’s...that’s different. Fighting like that—that makes me—it makes me—” she starts crying again and Ben takes a deep breath.

He’s wondered about this for a long time.  It’s a  _ don’t touch  _ subject with Rey, the reason for foster homes and pinching pennies and going into the Air Force.  “Did your parents fight?”

She just cries and god he wishes he were there with her.  “A lot.” So quietly for a moment he thought he imagined it.  Then, louder, “They fought a lot.” And more tears. So many more tears.  

“So did mine,” Ben says, sitting up as she sobs.  “We’re not your parents, and we’re not my parents, ok?  But if we’re more like one set than the other, it’s my parents.”

Rey keeps crying.

“Facetime?”

“Yeah,” she replies.  And a moment later his phone is buzzing in his hand and he switches the call.  Rey’s face is red, her eye are puffy. Her hair is down out of the tight knot she keeps it in when she flies.  She’s still got her uniform on.

“How was it today?” he asks her.  “Flying?”

“I didn’t sleep last night,” she replies dully.  “So it was bad. But also fine. Kaydel took over for me when I needed caffeine.  Just a little bit of turbulence, but I took us around that for the most part.”

She pauses and looks at him and he sees her fingers reaching for the screen of the phone, as though she’s trying to caress his face.  “I love you.”

“I love you,” he replies.

“I hate that we’ve been fighting more and more.”

“We’re getting used to one another,” Ben says.

“Yeah.  Maz said I’d hate you for the first six months.  I don’t want to hate you like this.”

His mouth goes dry.  “Do you hate me?”

“No—Ben—I didn’t mean to say it like—I’m—no.  No I don’t—” she’s crying again, desperate, as though she’s clawing at the words coming out of her mouth, needing him to understand. 

And he does. 

He does because she’s crying so hard so hard that she can’t even form words, that she’s clinging to him so hard right now even though they’re thousands of miles apart, as though she needs him to breathe.

He knows what that feels like.

“Rey,” he says slowly, and her face is a mask if misery.  “Rey—do you think you should see someone?”

“I’m not leaving you,” she retorts fiercely.

“No I meant like—a counselor.  A therapist.” She doesn’t reply.  She’s still taking deep, shuddering breaths, he can see the way her body rises and falls with them through the lens of his phone.  “Because,” he continues carefully, “Fighting over a fridge shouldn’t freak you out this much or this deeply. Have you ever talked to anyone about your parents?”

“What’s there to talk about?” Rey asks.

“I had parents that fucked me up, but all parents do that,” he tells her. 

“I didn’t have parents to fuck me up,” Rey replies and he can tell she’s trying to joke but he cuts through it.

“Which probably fucked you up the most.  You hide it with smiles and stuff, but god, Rey.  It’s a fucking refrigerator. I’m not going to leave you without a home and starting from scratch over a fucking refrigerator.  I’m not going to punish you for that, or—or—or abandon you, or—”

He fumbles.  She keeps shuddering and he sees another tear leak out of her eyes.

“I just don’t want you to think I’m leaving you again,” she whispers.

“You aren’t,” he replies.  “I didn’t think you were.” That the fight would continue when she got back, sure.  But that it would be over? “Did you really think I’d leave you?”

She swallows, and he can tell in her silence that the answer is yes.

“You’re it for me,” he says firmly.  “I’ve known that for a while. It’s you or it’s nothing.  I know that. I couldn’t leave you if I wanted to—and I don’t want to.  I can’t think of  _ anything _ you could do that would make me want to leave you.”

“What about murder?”  It catches him off guard, the way the joke comes sailing through.  Her face is still red and puffy, but there’s a faint upward curl to her lips.  Her breathing is less ragged.

“I’d visit you in lockup.”

“Because sometimes I want to throttle all of air traffic control.”

“You’d probably look pretty good in an orange jumpsuit.”

She laughs a watery laugh.  

“I’ll find someone,” she says at last.  “I’ll talk to Rose and get a referral or something.”

It feels like a weight is being lifted off his shoulders.  

“I wish you were here,” he sighs at her.

“I wish I were there too,” she says.  “I hate Seattle.”

“You don’t hate Seattle.”

“Fine, I hate Minneapolis.  And Chicago. Who needs the Midwest?”

“Certainly not me,” Ben replies.  “Just come back, ok? Come home.” He doesn’t mean for his voice to crack, but it does.  

“I will,” she tells him.  “I’m not leaving you again.  I’m not.”

“Unless I go fascist again, right?”

“Yeah, then I’m kicking you out.”

He grins.  She takes a deep breath and he sees her rub first one eye and then the other with the hand not holding the phone.  “Ok. I’m going to log on and see what they’re doing for my schedule,” she says. “I’ll let you get some sleep.”

“I hope you sleep too,” he says.  “And I’ll see you so soon.”

“So very soon.  I love you.”

“I love you.”

Neither of them hang up.  Ben places the phone facing him in the dark and watches as Rey fumbles around on her phone, watches her brow furrow, and unfurrow before she sighs.  “You’re still there,” she says when she checks on him.

“Remember how we said we were never gonna be those people who didn’t hang up?”

“We’re big ole liars aren’t we.”

“The worst of them,” he says.

“I’ll get home late tomorrow.  I’m working a full day tomorrow, but it means I get a longer clump of days off after.”

“Fly safely.”

“I always do.  Love you.”

“Love you.”

“Love you.”

“Now we’re just gross.”

She grins.  It’s the most beautiful thing in the world.


	6. (Chapter  5, Part 2)

Rey hasn’t felt so weary in a long time, that sort of bone tired that comes from not having slept in several days, from caffeine keeping her afloat.  

“Get some rest,”  Kaydel tells her as they make their way through the empty terminal, dragging their industry standard roll aboards behind them.  

“I will, I promise.”

Her eyes are glazed over as she makes her way towards security, towards the escalator that will take her down to baggage claim and the shuttle to the garage.

For a moment, she thinks she’s imagining him standing there at the base of the escalator.  She’s wanted to see him so badly for the past few days that she could very well have summoned him in her mind out of sheer force of will.  That wouldn’t surprise her at all.

Except that he sags with relief at the sight of her and steps towards her and when she burrows her face in his neck, he smells just like his soap and his deodorant and that other, softer, humaner scent that’s just Ben.  

They stand there for a long time, their arms around one another, her face in his neck, his chin resting on the top of her head.  Her heart rate slows and it isn’t until that moment that she realizes just how on edge she’s been ever since she stormed out of the house.

“You’re here,” she mumbles at last.

“You’ve flown a lot, figured I could drive you home.”

“It’s late for you.”

“I’m cutting work tomorrow,” he says easily.  She loves feeling the vibrations his words through his throat.  “I’ve missed you.”

She swallows, but doesn’t say anything.  When he does, at last, release her, he takes her hand and they walk to the shuttle together.

“I texted Rose,” she tells him.  Both the easiest and hardest text in the world.  Rose’s response had been immediate, and supportive, and full of information and referrals.  “I have an appointment scheduled for Friday.”

“So soon?” He sounds surprised.

“Yeah,”  she says.  “No point in not starting, right?”

His hand tightens in hers, and she peeks at him out of the corner of her eyes.  He’s watching her. 

“I’m not about to freak out,” she says, half-laughing.  “I’ve already done that.”

“Ok,” he says.  

She half-smiles.  “Now I get what you mean when you say I hover after you meltdown.”

“You do.”

“And now you’re hovering.”  They get on the shuttle, and she snuggles into his side.  “But I’m glad you are.”

“You feeling breakable?”

“Tired, I think,” she says.

“You look it.” He lifts a hand and traces under her eyes where she’s sure the makeup she’d put on that morning—no one takes comfort in a baggy-eyed hasn’t-slept-enough-in-days pilot—has faded completely.

“Thank you for coming to get me,”  she says to him when they get off the shuttle.  She badges into the employee section of the garage and leads him over to where she’d parked her old hunk of junk.   

“Yeah,” he says as he settles into her driver’s seat.  “No one’s ever come to get you before, have they?”

She swallows, then shakes her head.  “No. I always have to pick myself back up.”

“I’ll start coming more.”

“You don’t have—”

“No, I don’t have to,” he agrees. “But I want to.  I meant every word I said last night.  You’re it for me. And since I’m probably gonna die a good fifteen years before you at minimum, I should maximize my time.”

Rey snorts.  “Oh please, surely they’ll have a good heart medicine to fix your blood pressure by then.”

“Yeah, but it’ll probably mean I won’t have an erection that lasts more than four seconds, so is it worth it?”

Rey laughs and he throws the car in reverse, putting his arm behind her seat so he can support himself as he pulls out of the parking spot.

Her hand finds his again and squeezes it.  “At least I’ll have a few years where I won’t have someone to nag me to pick up my shit.”

“Want to hear something funny?”

“Sure.”  He merges onto the Airport access road.  

“It was too clean.”

“What?”

“The house.  It was too clean.  I didn’t like it.” Rey’s eyes snap open in surprise.  “Now don’t get all excited,” he says. “I’m not saying we’re gonna live in a pile of mess for the rest of our lives, but I did miss you and your blankets strewn everywhere and your shoes in the middle of the living room and your laundry—”

“You just missed having an excuse to paw my unmentionables.”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response,” he grins as he drives them towards the highway.  

It feels oddly easy.  Rey’s heard the phrase  _ the calm before the storm _ before, but this feels almost like a calm after the storm.  

She’s never had a calm after the storm before.

She realizes she’s crying when a tear drops onto her uniform jacket and she brushes it away, hoping that Ben won’t notice.

But he does.   

“It’s ok,”  he tells her.  “It’ll be—”

“No, I know,” Rey says.  “I’m just—this doesn’t happen.  This whole joking and back to normal and you picking me up.   It doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah, it does,”  he says. “All the fucking time it does.  It just usually isn’t with you pulling yourself back together.  That’s usually yours truly.”

“Not lately.”  It’s been a while since he’s had a full-blown meltdown.  Not since he stopped with Snoke, and therapy, and them getting back together.

“Still—it’s your turn,” he says.  

“Yeah.  It is.” Her voice is quiet, and god damn it she’s going to start crying again.  She takes a deep breath, and then another, and Ben gets off the highway and they’ll be home in just a moment.  She keeps breathing in and out, doing everything not to think about being alone again, about her parents leaving her, about that sense of worthlessness she’s always tried to tamp down, below the surface.

No—now’s not the time for that.  Now’s the time for Ben, his hand still in hers, right up until the moment that they pull into the driveway.  It’s just past midnight as they let themselves into the house, as Ben puts her suitcase by the hall closet—she’ll unpack it tomorrow—and leads her towards the bedroom.  

“I’m going to shower,” she tells him quietly and he nods and just lets her go.

She lets the tears fall under the hot water while she washes her hair with his shampoo—it’s better than hers, and it annoys him that she uses it sometimes, but she doesn’t care right now if it means she gets to smell like him. Then she towels herself dry.

He’s reading when she arrives, but he puts his book down and when she clambers under the blankets, he pulls her into his arms.  He kisses her, deeply, expectantly, because they usually have sex after she gets home, and they usually have sex after they fight, and so this makes sense, but tonight, Rey just shakes her head.  “Can we just—can you just hold me?” she asks him.

He pulls away just long enough to look at her.  Then he nods, and turns off his light, and curls himself around her, warm, and safe, and home.


	7. Chapter 7

“We should cancel,” Rey says when she gets home.

“No,” Ben groans.  “No—you woowked hawd on it.”

“Ben, you can’t say the letter R.”

“I can.  Aw.”

Rey crosses to the bed and a moment later she’s pressing her hand to his forehead.  “And you’re definitely still feverish. Did you make it to Urgent Care today?”

“It’s jusd a cowd.”

“Yeah, and you’ve been knocked out for four days by it.  Can we get you something strong, please?”

“I am stwong.”  He reaches for her wrist, intending to pull her down for a hug, or a kiss, or something, but she pulls away.

“Your immune system isn’t,” she replies.  “I’m gonna cancel.”

“No,” he repeats.  “You woowked hawd on it.”

“Yeah, but you can’t get out of bed.”

“I can doo.”

“Prove it,” Rey says, her hands on her hips.

Ben sits up and ok maybe his head is a little fuzzy.  But he soldiers on. He’s had to handle worse than this.  This isn’t nearly as bad as getting food poisoning on that hike with his dad when he was thirteen.

“I’m gonna take a showew.”

“Ok, sweetheart,” Rey says.  

“I’m gonna move now.”

“Uhuh.”

“And afdew that, I’m gonna shave.”

“I don’t trust you near sharp objects right now.”

“I’m  _ fine _ , Wey.”

She bursts out laughing and he gets to his feet, energized by the sound of her laugh.  “Of course you are, darling.”

“Go away,” he mutters.

“Can you make it to the shower on your own?”

“I’m  _ fine _ !”

He does make it to the shower on his own.  He turns on the hot water and everything, scrubs himself down with Rey’s Limeade soap because he’d been too sick to go and replace his own soap.  

He can feel his nostrils clearing.  Grossly, because the snot is dripping out of his face.  But they’re still clearing. Steam is a good thing.

“How are you doing in there?”

“I can say Rs again,” he calls to her.

“That’s good!  I’m still cancelling.”

“No!”

“Yes.  You’re like a fucking petri dish right now and I don’t want everyone you know to get sick.”

“Rey—you worked so—”

“You don’t care about a fucking birthday party,” she says.  “And I’ll plan a surprise unbirthday for you at some point.”

“But—”

“Ben, you’re sick.”

“Yeah, but you wanted it.”

“Exactly.  I wanted it.  And now I don’t because you’re sick.  You’re not taking this away from me. I will throw you a million over the top birthday parties you don’t want, trust me.”

Ben swallows.  It hurts. His glands are ridiculously swollen.  He sighs.

The bathroom door opens and Rey comes in.   He turns off the water and pulls back the curtain.  She’s carrying a fresh set of sweatpants for him and one of the new towels his mother had sent him for his birthday.  She wraps him in it as he steps out of the shower and holds him close.

“Sorry you’re sick on your birthday,” she says.  “You’re not ruining your own birthday.”

He swallows.

The best thing about Rey being in therapy is that she’s started being that much more in tune with her own emotions.  The worst thing about it is that sometimes she says things like this and makes him realize just how much he sometimes still isn’t.  He’s definitely better than he was. But it’s still a lot of work to do.

She’d changed the sheets on the bed while he was in the shower, and thrown out most of the tissues that he’d just left there next to his face because he’d known he’d need them. She pushes him down onto the bed again, and tucks him in.

“I have more soup for you,” she says.

“I’m tired of soup,” he says.  “I’ll never eat a chicken again.”

“Tomato soup this time.”  His head snaps to her. “Because it’s your birthday.”  It’s his birthday and he loves tomatoes, and Rey pushes a thermos towards him.  

“I feel like a big baby,” he mutters.

“Oh, make no mistake: you are one,” she says as he takes the top off the thermos and begins to drink.  It’s so hot it burns his tongue, but it’s worth it because it’s not chicken noodle again. 

“Just remember that when you have this cold next week,” he grumbles  at her. 

“I’m not getting your cold,” she says.

“Oh yeah?”

“Nope.  You think I don’t chug Airborne every day?  You think that airplanes aren’t germ canisters I’m fighting constantly?  I’m still fit as a fiddle. Hand sanitizer is my best friend.”

“Well.  Congratu-fucking-lations.”

She presses a kiss to his temple and snuggles next to him, her hand resting on his thigh above the blanket. Unhelpfully, his dick twitches.  He drinks more soup. There’s no way that that’s happening tonight. It might be his birthday, but he’s sick as a dog and knowing his luck, he’ll end up shooting snot all over Rey while trying to kiss her.

He sighs.

“That was the most forlorn puppy-dog sigh I’ve seen in a while,” Rey says.

“It’s nothing,” he lies.  

But of course, she can read him like a book and her hand drifts across the blanket to rest on his dick, which twitches unhelpfully once again.

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“You’re younger than me and far more likely to know the answer to that question.”

Rey laughs and her lips are on his neck.  

“Did I nail it?”

“I think the problem is no nailing.”

“Maybe a little nailing,” she says.  She’s patting him more than stroking him through the blanket, and he turns to look at her.

“I’m not gonna cover you with my germs.”

“What if I cover you with mine?”

And just like that she’s sliding under the covers, wiggling down so that she’s completely covered by them—a perfect lump of Rey under the duvet.

Her hands are on the waistband of his sweatpants and she’s pulling them down his hips a little bit and Ben sighs and closes his eyes and smiles because she’s kissing her way along the length of him now. 

It’s the most alive he’s felt all week, Rey’s mouth wrapping around his dick, hot and warm and  perfect. Sort of like chicken soup for the soul—or tomato soup because he’s fucking done with chicken soup.  And Rey made him tomato soup for his birthday. He takes a sip of it right as she swirls her tongue around the tip of his dick and he coughs and a little bit spills onto his chest.  It’s hot enough to sting and that’s when he decides to put the soup on the bedside table.

“What’s wrong?” Rey’s voice is muffled as his hips twist away from her lips.

“Soup.”

“Oh.”

“Ok. It’s on the bedside table now.”

And there’s Rey again.  He lives and dies by the way she makes him feel, by her tongue against his skin, by her heart that’s too big for her body.

How is it that he gets Rey, who is sucking his dick on his birthday even though he’s sick and hasn’t left his bed in four days?  

His hands find her hair under the blanket and he massages her scalp.  It makes her hum around his dick and his eyes roll into the back of his head.  This—this is what everything good in the world feels like—Rey’s hair, her tongue, her lips, her fingers which are now playing with his balls.  

She’ll be the death of him, just as sure as she’s been the life of him.  

When he comes, it’s a relief—tension fleeing his body as he sinks into pillows and blankets and Rey kisses her way up his chest.  He’s mostly asleep by the time she snuggles against his side and whispers, “Happy Birthday,” to him again. 

He thinks he replies.

But if he doesn’t, he knows she gets it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is centered around accidental pregnancy and miscarriage. I threw that in the tags, so I'm not really worried about spoiling it, and don't want to send anyone blind into the chapter. It's skippable if you don't want to read that specifically.

_ I’m late. _

_ I say we murder air traffic control together. _

_ No.  Like I’m late. _

_ Like my period. _

Ben stares at his phone for a full minute, because... what the fuck does he say to that?  He’s agreed to maybe getting a cat one day. Maybe. 

Oh fuck.

_ Are you ever late? _

_ Nope.   _

_ Have you taken a test? _

_ Not yet. No easy place to get one at the airport hotel. _

_ Do you want to call? _

_ I’m with my copilot.  She’s drinking. I’m not. _

_ I’m freaking out. _

_ Yeah.  Can you fake being sick? _

_ No—she just broke up with her girlfriend.  I don’t want to abandon her right now. _

_ Yeah but if you don’t have to be there. _

_ It’s nice to have something else to focus on. _

_ Except you’re texting me, so are you really focused? _

That’s the last thing that he gets from her for a while, which he chooses to assume is because she is focusing on something else, and not because he fucked up being comforting or supportive. Just like he fucked up not impregnating her, apparently.

Fuck.

_ Fuck _ .

Ben doesn’t drink alone.

He has had trouble drinking in the past, especially when he’s nervous, especially when he’s angry or upset or feels like a fuckup.  

But he opens a beer and downs half of it, and also texts Finn because  _ fuck it _ he doesn’t like Finn that much but he’s Rey’s best friend and surely if he gets a text out of the blue from Ben saying “let’s do something right now” he’ll get the picture, right?

_ Bowling?  _ is Finn’s reply five minutes later.

_ All I could think of at this hour on a weeknight. _

_ Let’s do it. _

Which is how he ends up at Hyperspace Lanes twenty minutes later, putting on bowling shoes that are slightly too small for him because they don’t actually have bowling shoes his size.

“Wanna talk about it?” Finn asks.

“Nope,” he replies.

“Cool, because I don’t know how to be emotionally supportive of you.”

Ben rolls the ball and it smashes the bowling pins, which splatter really satisfyingly.  It’s not a strike, but with his next roll he gets the last two down.

“This was a good idea.”

“Thought it might be.”  Ben casts him a glance. Had Rey told him?  Bens not gonna tell him, but it wouldn’t surprise him if Rey had.  She tells Finn everything. “I don’t know what’s going on,” Finn says.  “But you must really be desperate for company if you’re asking me to babysit you.”

He can’t even protest, because his phone buzzes in his pocket and he digs it out immediately.

_ Sorry—was focusing on Kay.   _

_ I’m going to a CVS.  I’ll let you know what’s happening if you’re still awake. _

_ I’m still awake.   _

_ I’m bowling with Finn. _

He sees Rey start to type, then stop, then start, then stop.  Then she’s calling him.

“You’re bowling with Finn?”

“Yup.  And I’m kicking his ass,” Ben says, because Finn’s ball ended up in the gutter.

“Charity case, chump.  You’re having a bad night,” Finn replies.

“Did you tell him?”

“No.  I won’t unless you—”

“No.  Not until I know.   I mean—” He hears her swallow.  “I will, but just—not yet.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“Rey—”

“Yeah?”

“It’ll be ok.”

He hears her swallow again.

He beats the crap out of Finn during the next round of bowling, and they start another when his phone rings again.

“I’m gonna be a bit,” Ben says.

“Take your time,” Finn replies.

“Hey,” he says, his voice a little high and a lot nervous.

“It’s positive,” she says.  “So yeah.”

“When are you next home?”

“Friday,” Rey replies.  So far away.

“Ok.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.  I’ll pick you up.”

“Thanks.”

“Rey?”

“Yeah?” Her voice is quivering.  He hates that. She sounds like she’s trying not to cry.   _ She isn’t ready for this. I’m not ready for this. _

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” she says.

“Are you by yourself?”

“Yeah.  I’ll be ok though.  I’m going to shower and go to sleep soon anyway.”

“Call me if you need anything.”

“I will.”

“Call me whenever.  Don’t worry about whether I’m asleep or at work or—”

“I will.”

He bowls three more rounds with Finn before they call it quits.

Time’s a weird thing sometimes.  Ben’s known this for years. It moves in spurts more than in a steady line, and how sluggish those spurts are depends entirely on the whims of something nebulous and uncontrollable and unknowable.

The seconds leading to Friday inch along horribly, slowly.  Phone calls and texts with Rey are breathless, nervous, dancing around the subject of the fact that he fucking got her pregnant.  She has a baby growing inside her. There’s a kid in there, that’s his, and hers, and they skipped the cat totally by accident and went straight to—

Fuck, he’s not ready to be a dad.  But ready doesn’t seem to be in any way a part of anything right now.

Rey’s final flight on Friday lands at 2PM, early for her, but she’d pulled in a favor with a friend, and Ben fakes a bad stomach and ducks out of work at noon.  He waits by baggage claim, knowing that she’ll be out when she’s out, and plays mindless games on his phone.

He almost drops his phone when it rings at 2:30, Rey’s face smiling up at him from his screen.  

“Hello?”

“Are you there?” she asks him.  No.  _ Asks _ is the wrong word.  She’s sobbing.

“I’m by baggage claim.”

“Ok,” she says.  The room is echoing around her.  

“Where are you?”  His heart is hammering in his chest.

“I’m in the single stall restroom by the escalator down from security,” she chokes out, and Ben’s terrified now.  He’s on his feet and hurrying towards it and knocking softly on the door. He hears her crying inside, and she hangs up the phone and a moment later the lock turns and she lets him in and—

It’s not gory, or anything, but it’s blood—lots of it—smeared on her.  She’s not wearing pants or a skirt, and its soaked right through her underwear.  Her eyes are red and puffy, her face is blotchy, and she looks so small.

“Hey,” he says, and he pulls her into his arms.

“I didn’t even want it,” she bursts out, clinging to him.  “I didn’t. I didn’t want it. And now it’s—now—”

“When did it start?”

“Right after takeoff on my last flight.  Kaydel basically flew the whole way home.  And then I got this really bad cramp. Like my usual cramps, but worse, and I got all feverish and—”

She doesn’t keep going.  She doesn’t have to. She just cries into his chest and he holds her as close as he can, as if by sheer force of will he could bring her into his own body.

“Do you have painkillers?” he asks.

“I took three Advil on the plane,” she gulps into his shoulder.

“Has it helped?”

“With some of the pain, yeah.  But I just—” she takes a shuddering breath and starts to cry again.  “I didn’t want it. And now I’m gutted.”

“I don’t see why you can’t be,” he says.  He’s numb right now, which means he’s probably gutted too.  “It—it can mean more than one thing. It doesn’t have to just mean this kid right now.  Also,” and he knows he’s about to put his foot in his mouth, but he can’t stop himself ever, so why would now be any different? “I’m led to believe that hormones are a bitch.”

“The worst,” she mumbles.  

She cries more.  She cries and cries until he’s pretty sure she’s just making noises and not tears, but he’s not letting go of her until she pulls away.

She does at last.  A long time later, she steps away from him.  She looks at him so miserably that he presses a kiss to her forehead.  Then she goes and throws water on her face. She takes a deep breath and looks down at her bloody legs.

He watches her chest heave, watches her eyes go bright, and he grabs a paper towel and wets it in the sink.  “Sit,” he tells her, pointing to the toilet.

She does and he kneels down in front of her, spreading her legs.  Slowly, carefully, gently, he begins to wash the blood away. 

He kisses her thighs when they’re clean, then lifts his head higher, and she bends down to kiss him.   _ I love you _ , his lips tell hers.  Then, slowly, he stands.

“Do you have clean underwear?” he asks her.

“No,” she says.  “But just throw me a paper towel and my sweats.  Hopefully that’ll do till we get home.”

“I can go and—”

“The only place to get a proper pad nearby is the ladies room and it’s not worth it.  You can’t go in there, and I’ll burst into tears if I do, so let’s just do this, ok?”

He hands her several paper towels, and watches her bunch them up and line her underwear with them.  Then he hands her her sweatpants; she puts them on while he washes his hands.

He takes her hand when they exit out into baggage claim.

“When I said I didn’t want it,” she begins slowly.

“Don’t,” Ben says.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t try and process right now.  We’ll talk more later, ok?”

“When I said I didn’t want it,” she says more firmly and he loves her for it, her own dumb stubborn determination, “I didn’t mean I never did.  Just not now.”

“Yeah,” he says.  “I got that.”

“I just wanted to be clear.”

“That’s why we’re getting a cat, right?”

“We’re getting a cat?” Rey asks.

“Aren’t we getting a cat?”

“When did we decide that?”

“I thought we—” he pauses.  “You didn’t mean immediately, right?”

“I thought you had to work your way up to a cat,” she says.

“Yeah, and it took me two weeks, not, like, nineteen years.”

“Oh.”  

They’ve reached the car.  She puts her suitcase in the trunk and then gets into the second seat of the car.

“That’s why I was sad,” she said.  “Because I knew I would want it one day, and got scared.”

“Remember what I said about processing right now, and how you shouldn’t?”

She snorts.  “Me? Not overthink something?”  She sighs and closes her eyes. “I hate this.”

“Yeah, me too.”

He turns on the car, and a moment later he’s pulling out of the spot and taking them to the exit of the garage. 

“You ok?” she asks him.

He checks for traffic before pulling out of the garage.

“Yeah,” he says.  “It’s rough, but I’ll be ok.”

“But are you  _ now _ ?”

“Doing the numb thing right now, so I’m figuring it out.”

“You’ll tell me when you process, right?”

“When haven’t I told you anything ever?”

She snorts.  They’re at a red light when she leans over and presses her mouth to his cheek, and then rubs the bridge of her nose against it, right over the spot she kissed.  


	9. Chapter 9

“Are you going to make yourself useful?”

“Can’t fathom why I’d start now,” he replies.

It’s sunny, and warm, and he’s been half asleep for about twenty minutes, lying on the spit of grass in front of the house while Rey putters around.

“I have it now,” she says.  “Can you just help me with the…” he opens his eyes.  He’d been trying to read...some book. Not a very good book.  It’s really not making an impression. He’s been half asleep for twenty minutes.  Although maybe that’s the sun. Sometimes, books don’t hold up to the soporific power of the sun.

“What do you need?” he asks, looking at her.  She’s holding her rosebush in the hole she’d dug for it, just under the window.  

“Can you hold it up while I add the dirt?”

“Yeah.”

He puts the book face down on the grass, somehow doubting that he’ll ever read it again, and gets slowly to his feet.  The afternoon light is such that he casts a huge shadow over Rey as she’s crouched down.

“Where do I grab?”

She shrugs.  “So long as it stays up.”

“Can I borrow your gloves?”

She’s about to say yes when she changes tacks.  “Will your hands even fit in my gloves?”

“Possibly not, but I don’t feel like grabbing the thorns and seeing if I survive.”

“Coward,” she says, taking her gardening gloves off and handing to them.

His hand does not fit.  Not even close. And Rey guffaws, watching him struggle with it.

“Yeah, you laugh now but when I’m fingering your cunt later tonight it’ll be a different tune,” he grumbles at her, giving up.

“Good to know I’m more elastic than gloves,” she winks.  His dick twitches in his pants.

Somehow, he thinks he’ll be old and grey and his dick will still do that when she winks, when she smiles, when she laughs, when she takes his hand.  He looks forward to it. 

He folds the gloves in half and wraps them around a chunk of stem and holds it in place while Rey takes her trowel and begins to pat dirt down around the base of the plant.  Then she grabs her watering can and waters the base. Then she adds more dirt. Then more water. Then more dirt. Then she twists around and grabs some mulch from the huge bag they’d bought and spreads it over the wet dirt.

“Thanks,” she smiles up at him.

“Yeah,” he replies, bending down to kiss her.  She kisses him, her hand coming up to rest on his face and—

“Ew.”

“It’s just dirt, Ben.”

“Yeah, but worms eat and poop it out and now it’s on my face.”

“Could be cow manure.”

“ _ Ew _ .”

She’s laughing and he’s rubbing his face on the glove which he realizes as he’s doing it is a bad plan because the glove is also covered in dirt, so he drops it on the ground and heads towards the house.

“Are you mad?” she asks him.

“No, I just don’t want dirt on my face.”

“Come back!” Rey calls and he turns around. She’s got a garden hose in her hands.

“Oh no,” he says.  “I don’t trust you with that thing.”

“What’s not to trust?” she asks, all innocent in the least trustworthy way imaginable.  “I’m nothing but good.”

“I’d believe that except you were very saucy last night.  And the night before. And the night before.”

She grins.  “What if I promise I’ll be good.”

“And if you’re not?”

“Why do you have so little faith in me?” she asks.

“I have a lot of faith in you.  That’s why I’m pretty sure you’re gonna spray me in the face with that.  I see that twinkle in your eye.”

“Fine. You can hose yourself down,” she says, handing it to him.  

He still doesn’t trust her—not even a little—but he rinses off his face.  It feels great in the early spring sunlight, as he uses his hands to spread the water over his face and neck.  Then he hands the hose back to her.

“See?  You were wrong,” Rey says.

“I was.”

“I wasn’t going to spray your face,” she says and there’s that gleam in her eyes and his stomach swoops and his dick twitches.  “I was gonna spray your chest.”

And cold water blasts across his chest, and he looks down and—

“You perv,” he mutters as she giggles with delight.  “You fucking perv.” He reaches for the hose because Rey—too—is wearing a white t-shirt, but she’s dancing away and as he lunges for it, she shrieks, “Be careful of the roses!”

Which he is when he tackles to the ground and pins her down with his hands on each of her wrists.  His dick is now definitely heading towards a semi as he drops his lips to hers.

“Ben we’re in public,” Rey hisses at him.

“I’m not gonna do anything,” he says, mimicking her.  “I’m good.”

He nips at her neck and she makes a truly half-assed attempt to struggle away from him.

“I like your chest, ok?” she laughs a little breathily.  

“I like yours,” he replies. And he bends down and presses his wet chest to hers.

To be fair, he knows it’s not gonna be like a fucking wet t-shirt contest.  But his shirt got really wet and Rey’s is working to absorb some of that and he smirks very contentedly when he pulls away from her.

“Oh you think you’re clever,” she says, looking down.  He can see the outline of her bra.

“I don’t know about clever, but I do think I won.”

“What did you win?”

“You?”

She rolls her eyes.  

“I already came back and moved in. You don’t have to lay it on so thick.”

He pulls her towards him again.

“Yeah I do.”  Because he’s gonna love her til he’s old and grey, until long after the roses they just planted have died because they’ve moved to a different house and the new owners don’t know how to garden for shit.   _ You’re it for me _ , he’d told her, and he’d meant it.  

And he’ll never stop telling her.  


	10. Chapter 10

“Oh my god,” Rey breathes.  “Stay still.”

She reaches for her phone as the cat—hugely fat and brown and orange and white—settles itself on Ben’s lap.

He stares at it with a look of complete shock and Rey gets a picture of it.

“We’re adopting that one,” she says.  “It chose you, Ben.”

They’d been given strict instructions when they’d arrived: they couldn’t pick up the cats, but they could pet them, play with them, and it was fine if the cats climbed on their laps and sat down.  Ben had been less engaged with the cats. Boredom, Rey assumed, or perhaps that he was still humoring her about all this.

So he’d sat in a chair and hadn’t moved for forty minutes while Rey had played with as many of the cats in the room as she could. 

Which seemed to be a mistake because Porg—as the photoboard told her the cat was called—had decided Ben was a safe human and had deposited himself right on his lap.

“Hi Porg,” Rey says, sitting down on the floor.  Porg extends her little face out and sniffs at her nose.  Then he chirps at her. “Ben!” she squeals. “Look at her!” 

Ben is.  His hand is even resting on her back, stroking her absentmindedly.  His eyes are on Rey. 

Sometimes he gets this look in her eyes.  She’s tried describing it to her therapist—the look that makes her feel as though her life can’t be real because no one  _ actually _ looks at someone else this way. 

Ben looks at her like this about twice a week.  Sometimes more than that. And every time, it makes her go still.

Porg is purring loudly as Ben strokes her and Rey can’t breathe.  Except she can. Breathing’s easier when Ben’s around.

“You like her?” she asks at last.

“Yeah,” he replies.  “She’s cute.”

Porg decides to take that moment to meow a little, and stretch, and twist on his lap so that her belly is in the air.  Rey scritches it and the purring gets deeper. Porg chirps again.

“Do you want her?” Rey asks, looking up at him.  

“Yeah,” he says.  “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want—”

“Not any cat.  Her. It has to be right.  She chose you, but if you don’t want her then we don’t get her.”

Ben looks down at the cat, who is now kneading at his jeans happily as Rey scratches her.  She’s a big cat, and has been recently spayed, her nipples large enough to tell Rey that she’d had kittens in her past life.  

He keeps petting her and she grabs at his hand and starts licking it.  

He smiles.

It’s not a big smile, not an all-consuming smile, not the sort that takes her breath away.  But it’s soft, and sweet, even when the lick turns to a bite and he has to tug his hand away.

“I like her,” he says.  “Probably more than any of the other cats in here.  She’s a menace and I have a soft spot for those.”

The shelter agrees to hold her for twenty-four hours while they go and get a carrier, a litter box, some cat food.  Ben spends several hours combing through Reddit advice for first time cat owners. And the next morning, bright and early, he and Rey go and pick up Porg.  

Porg is just as fat as the day before, and just as chirpy and purry, but the second she’s in the second seat of the car, she starts yowling very unhappily.  

“It’s a short hop,” Ben tells the cat as though it can understand him, but that doesn’t stop porg from yowling and yowling and yowling.

She doesn’t stop until they get home, where Ben and Rey let her out of her carrier in the bathroom, closing themselves in with her as she hides under the sink—frightened of her new surroundings.  

“You’ll be ok,” Ben tells her as they sit down on the floor, watching her do her best to make herself as small as possible behind the toilet (wider, better for hiding).  “I know it’s new. But it’ll be home soon.”

“Remember when you said you didn’t know if you could be nurturing to another living creature?” Rey asks him.

“Yeah.”

“You were fucking wrong about that,” she tells him.  Ben looks at the cat, then back at Rey and the weirdest expression crosses his face.  He does that thing where he works his jaw, suddenly nervous, suddenly vulnerable and Rey reaches out a hand to grab his.

He looks at Porg again, his eyes bright.

“I really like this cat,” he mutters.  “I feel like she’s gonna own my ass.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what cats do,” Rey says.  

“Good preparation,” he says slowly and his eyes look back at hers and her mouth goes dry.

They talked a little more after it happened, but mostly to say no, they weren’t ready, and yes, everything sucked, and they loved each other and they were going to keep loving each other.  No timeframes, no expectations. 

And she doesn’t really think that time frames or expectations are changing now.  But it’s significant, somehow. 

One of the things Maz didn’t warn her about was how there would sometimes be things she didn’t need to say.  She and Ben had always had a  _ say it, always  _ relationship that the idea that they’d get to a point where they don’t need to say things, they just need to feel them and the other would somehow, know, as if by fate—well, it was a silly idea.

Except it isn’t.

Because she’s sitting on the floor of the bathroom with Ben.

They have a fat cat named Porg who is scared of her new home, but will soon be the queen of it; maybe, just maybe, they’ll build a family together one day—if they both think it’s right, if they both feel ok about it, which feels more possible every day; and they’ve made it through the first year of living together.

It feels like a lifetime.

It feels like no time at all.

They sit there quietly for a while.  Rey doesn’t know how long. It doesn’t really matter.  They have all the time in the world, really. 

Porg makes her way out from behind the toilet.  She sniffs at the bathtub before hopping up onto the rim of it and padding around to sniff at the bottles of shampoo and conditioner.   She jumps onto the sink, examines herself in the mirror, and then looks down at Ben and chirps.

“What do you want?” he asks her.

She hops down onto the edge of the toilet and extends her face to sniff at him.  Then she hops down onto his lap again and starts to purr.

“We have a cat,” Ben says as he pets her.

“We do,” Rey agrees.  She scooches over to sit next to him and rests her head on his shoulder and they pet Porg until she decides she’s bored of pets and goes to sniff at the door.

“Ready for your kingdom?” Ben asks, getting to his feet.  “Christ, I’m stiff.” He opens the door for the cat. “Just remember, you can always come back in here if you get scared.”

“She can’t understand you, you know.”

“How do you know?” Ben asks.  “I think Porg’s very smart.”

Porg meows at the open door and returns to hide behind the toilet and Rey rolls her eyes.  “Come on—let’s go. She’ll be safe in there and she’ll come out when she’s ready and this is probably the last time we can have sex without her watching.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all I have for now! I might revisit if I feel inspired but this is it for the forseeable future!
> 
> Thanks for reading! You can find me on twitter (@crossing_winter) and pillowfort (crossingwinter)

**Author's Note:**

> I have a few ideas for where I plan to take them over the course of this year, but am open to suggestions that I think could fit into the story! 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed and please do check out the other fics written for [the exchange](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/anniversaryficexchange)!


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